Reunited
by AngstAngstAngstLove
Summary: 12.02 Tag: Missing brother scene from 12x02, Mamma Mia.


It was surreal, to say the least.

It wasn't until Sam had felt the breeze on his face, touched the metal frame of the Impala and felt his brother's rough hands on his skin that he began to believe that this might actually be happening .That this illusion; his brother and his mother, Castiel, freedom, was real and even though Dean (and his mom, for that matter) were dead, they had still came to rescue him.

But they weren't dead. Either of them. This had to be more of that British Bitch's drugs. Nothing made sense.

Sam stopped, pulling away from Dean and blinking a few times, trying to decide if this was a hallucination or reality. If this was another trick to get him to break (and how marvelously it was working if it was) or if his brother was here, right now, with reinforcements, orchestrating a surprise rescue that Sam had lost hope would ever occur. He look a step backwards, looking uncertainly over his shoulder in the direction of the house, then at the car. Was this right? Were the details like he remembered? Were there any gaps in his memory or things he'd overlooked? Quite frankly, the whole experience was very reminiscent of his cage/Lucifer hallucinations and he half-expected to have the devil himself appear and tell him that he never left the cage, that the misery of the last few years had been all his doing. Without thinking, an automatic response after what felt like eternities of practice, he dug his thumb into the cut on his hand, willing himself to snap out of it. If Dean's presence was all in his mind, it would hurt even worse if he let it play out any longer.

...

Dean could barely keep the rage contained as he walked away from the house with both of the members of the British Men of Letters in tact. He wanted nothing more than to rip them apart limb by limb, piece by piece. They smashed into his Baby, torture his brother, hurt his mother and himself...they didn't deserve to be walking out relatively unscathed. He would deal with them later, though, because right now, Sammy needed him.

He had one hand on his brother's arm as they walked back to the car, partially to brace him, as Sam seemed a bit unsteady, and partially just to remind himself that he had found Sam and Sam was okay.

It was clear, though, when Sam stopped walking, pulled away, and dug his finger into his palm that he was far from okay. It had been years since he'd seen Sam do this particular gesture, but he still remembered it's function and what it implied. He grabbed both of Sam's hands, stopping his brother from doing any further damage to the wound, and said quietly, "It's ok, Sammy. This is real."

No response.

Dean squeezed his brother's hands a little tighter, his voice sharp as he spoke, "Sam!" Sam's gaze flickered to him and Dean silently implored Sam to snap out of it, "You good, Sammy?"

"Uh, no." Sam admitted, pulling one hand away and running it through his hair with a shaky laugh, "You...the bomb?...and now…"

It was clear that this was too much for Sam to take in at the moment, injured, exhausted and overwhelmed. He saw Mary move towards them from the corner of his eye and Dean motioned for her to stay back. He had this. Mary may be their mother, but this was _his_ kid. Dean put his hands on either side of Sam's face, forcing their eyes to meet again, "Look at me, Sammy." Sam shut his eyes, and Dean was confident that the action was solely to keep from his little brother from spilling tears. "Sammy…" he said again, his voice rough with emotion, "Come on, look at me. This, you and me, this is real. This is happening. I got you out and you're going to be okay."

"But...she...Dean?"

Sam sounded so lost, so confused, and it felt like a stab to Dean's heart. He had never wanted to see this look, this uncertainty on Sam's face again. It had been ages since Sam's hallucinations ended, but their effects were still painful for both of them. Knowing this approach wasn't working, that Sam still couldn't believe this was happening, he pulled his brother in for a tight hug, squeezing his brother and firmly whispering, "I got you out, Sammy. This, you and me, this is real. It's a long story and I really don't want to do it while those assholes are still here just in case they try something else, but I promise I will explain everything."

And for a few moments, they clung to each other like a lifeline.

-...-

The whole experience had been overwhelming for Mary. One minute she was dead, then she was alive. Her boys were grown men, and right off the bat they had gone on a rescue mission. The world was different, the technology like something she'd expect from Star Trek, the news bleak and depressing. There were more channels on the TV, these tiny computers were able to pull up any information at lightning speed, angels were real and her oldest son, the light of her life while she was alive, looked far too much like the other hunters who had grown up in the life-tired and cynical, hard yet broken. She had never wanted this for her boys.

She wasn't sure how to act, how to react. She wanted to reach out and help her boys, who were clearly in pain (and not all of it physical), but had no idea if it would be appreciated or even where to begin. She had no idea what they liked and disliked, what they knew about her, what they thought about her. They'd clearly been managing on their own, but would they be willing to accept her help now that it was available?

Mary was pretty sure she was missing some piece of a larger puzzle when Sam pulled away from his brother, teary eyed and still looking so lost and confused. She had missed so much, would she ever feel comfortable with them? Would she ever feel like she knows them? It was clear that while she didn't know what was wrong with Sam, Dean certainly did. With more gentleness than she had yet seen from her son, he reached out and quietly spoke to his brother, reassuring him and then pulling him into an embrace. If nothing else, at least she could rest assured that they had each other.

Her boys were beat to hell. Sam was walking with a limp, his face and chest bleeding sluggishly. His movements were clumsy and tired and she worried he may have a concussion due not only to the bewildered look on his face, but his lack of focus in general. Dean was battered and bruised, carefully favoring one side over the other in a way that screamed 'hey, rib injury!' to her hunter's mind. Even though she had missed out on 33 years of their lives, her maternal instinct to disinfect, bandage and coddle was so strong she could barely stand it.

She noticed that Sam was going down at the exact moment Dean did, and she lunged forward to help catch her younger son's weight, but was beat to the boys by Cas, who effortlessly took her huge (seriously, how had he gotten to be so tall?) son into his arms and laid him in the grass. Mary shifted her weight between her two feet, not wanting to intrude on the angel but desperately needing to do _something_ , and nearly fell over herself as she watched the angel put his hand on Sam's head and instantly heal him. Castiel reached towards Dean, who stubbornly leaned away, and Castiel reached out to touch Sam once more, calmly telling the two Winchesters, "He will wake in a moment. I've healed everything I could feel."

"Thank you." Mary graciously answered, reaching over and squeezing the man's shoulder, "My boys are very lucky to have you watching over them."

Castiel didn't respond, looking somewhat out of place at the praise, and then turned to Dean, "I must see what the repercussions of the incident with my father and Amara entail. I will return."

Mary was unsurprised to see that Dean had managed to load a barely-conscious Sam into the car before she could even ask what she could do to help. She, honestly, had never felt so useless in her life.

She did know one thing about her sons, though. If they were anything like the other men she had known in her life, they'd be starving right about now, and if there was anything she was confident hadn't changed over the years, it was the ability read a takeout menu. She may not be able to fix everything she had missed over the years, she may not be able to make them a home-cooked meal, but she could fill the hole in their bellies and for now that seemed like a pretty good place to start.


End file.
